Gillian Saga VIII - Moments - Wednesday Breakfast
by monica.prelooker
Summary: The title says it all. It's finally here, and it's time for Gillian to start her life in DC.
1. Chapter 1

This is the end of the previous writing, which I can't post here because of ratings:

_She somehow pushes him off her and back onto the bed by her side, and snatches back the covers and cuddles against him, rounding his chest with her arm and resting a leg on his thighs._

_"__Wakers fix breakfast," she mutters, closing her eyes._

_"__Okay… Now…?"_

_He's just lying flat on his back, eyes blankly fixed on the ceiling, arms spread apart, one hand hanging out of the bed, really wishing she doesn't say yes-now._

_Now he's completely awake, he's thinking that aging definitely takes an ironic toll, since he can stay up for two days straight and sprint and chase down a criminal at any moment, but he's in no shape for all this action in these few hours, considering couch and deserts after dinner and now this. Well, maybe it's time to leave the sprinting and chasing for always-fit Morgan, and save his strength for more interesting activities._

_But lucky he, she mumbles: "No… When I can feel my legs again…"_

_"__Okay…," he breathes. His ego would really smile at the notion that he's able to wear her out that much. But he can't, yet._

However, two hours laters he's very up an awake. Because this is it: Wednesday morning, his apartment, Gillian. Breakfast! The moment he's been sighing about ever since she said those two words back in Boston. So he makes coffee, and hotcakes, and toasts, and fries some bacon and artistically lays slices of cheese on their dishes, and picks butter and syrup from the fridge.

Then he spins around, a smile on his face, and freezes. Then he scowls. Then he bursts in a heartfelt laughter.

Gillian is sitting with both elbows on the breakfast bar, holding her head with her hands, eyes closed. Drowsing on her stool. She's startled at his laughter, because it's the first time she actually hears him laughing, and frowns, trying to open her eyes.

"What," she grunts.

"You look like crap."

"Well, I shouldn't, but somebody woke me up at 6 am and left me in this crappy state…"

Hotch comes from behind the bar and circles her with his arms, kissing her hair. "Don't worry, it won't happen again."

"Not that early. 7 am is just perfect."

"Jack gets up at 7."

"Okay, 6.30?"

Hotch kisses her hair again scoffing and softly pulls from her. "Come."

She steps down from the stool and lets him guide her to the couch, he makes her sit down there and brings breakfast to the coffee table. When he sits down by her, grabbing the TV remote, he notices she's very serious, frowning.

"Regan…?" he asks, concerned, yet he still savors uttering her name.

He clearly sees her chill at him calling her that, her eyes moving over the mugs and dishes. Then she quickly nods with a deep breath and tries to smile, but he can see the wet spark in her eyes. Hotch sits up to lean closer to her, now really concerned, and gently rubs her back.

Gillian takes in a very deep, shaky breath. She cannot explain him about her dreams of stealing a while in the morning, to watch the news together on that very couch. Once more he doesn't need her to explain anything, because there they are, right? And he did it all perfect without a word from her. Down to the last little stupid detail. Then she faces him, and her smile is not forced anymore, and she grabs his face in her hands and kisses him.

Hotch really hopes she will grant him a break, but damn him if he's about to ask for it, as Gillian softly pushes him back while she kisses him. But then she hands him his coffee and the remote, and literally dives to cuddle against his side, her arms around his waist and her head on her chest.

Okay… Good…, he thinks. He turns on the TV and leaves the control to take the coffee mug in that hand and round her back with his other arm. They linger there, watching TV in silence, for a while.

"We can call my broker in a while," he says then. "He can find us a couple of places to check right today."

"Sounds good," she nods, avidly attacking the hotcakes.

Then he hears a muffled song and frowns. "What's that?"

Gillian jumps to her feet. "Shit! That's my phone! Where is it?"

"In the bedroom, I think." He watches her hurrying to his room. Socialization minus ten, he automatically relates phone ringing to work, so he asks: "Aren't you still on leave?"

"Yeah, but Connor is alone back home. And I bet that bitch is there too. I hate her."

Hotch deduces she's talking about Connor's girlfriend and smiles. He hears her talking from his room, and it's odd, because she sounds pissed. But then another rumor catches his attention. His neighbor upstairs sounds like he's moving around all of his furniture. Then the sound moves to the stairwell, and then down. Hotch stands up frowning and goes to the front door.


	2. Chapter 2

In his bedroom, Gillian takes Morgan's call, who greets her with a very sarcastic: "Good morning, Mrs. Hotchner!"

And gets a ten-minutes scold for calling her that, as he can't help chuckling under his breath. When Gillian considers that she's made her point about hating with all of her guts being labeled as somebody else's property, and what does she have a last name for, huh, and she's willing to stand all kind of jokes and teasers and even pranks, but if Morgan has his jewels in any value, he will never call her that again, got it?

"Ok, got it, Reg. Now, everything fine? Or this is more than just your usual morning mood?"

She turns to look at the messed bed and sits on its edge, sliding a hand over the sheet where Hotch slept with her, and she can feel her lips pursing in a very stupid smile as she warmly says:

"Everything just perfect, Derek, don't worry."

Morgan smiles and nods at hearing her. Good, he won't be needing to drive over to Hotch's and punch his lights out. And lose his job, of course.

"Oh, Chief Cruz gave Hotch two personal days…," she says then.

"Yeah, we know, that's why I called you. Don't worry, we'll keep the shop easy and running these two days."

"You know I love you, right?"

Morgan can't resist to tease: "Well, that may cost me my job now, but I love you too, Reg. Take care."

"You too, love and hugs to all the others."

She disconnects and goes back in no hurry to the family-room. There she spots the front door half open, and Hotch standing there in the hallway. She approaches the door hearing an energetic young man saying to Hotch:

"-because I want somebody with personal references, you know what I mean. So if you know about anybody, just tell them and let me now, ok?"

"Sure…," why does he sound taken aback?. "Thanks."

"No, thank you, Aaron. Well, you have my number, see you!"

"See you. Good luck…"

The young man strides away, his voice echoing along the hallway as he says: "Careful with that! Careful!"

Hotch steps slowly in, frowning down at a personal card in his hand. He finds Gillian's questioning look and raises his eyebrows saying in his controlled, calm way:

"That was my neighbor from upstairs, right above us…"

She nods, inviting him to elaborate. He keeps his eyes on the card.

"He and his boyfriend are moving in together to this beautiful house they found in the suburbs…"

Now it's Gillian's turn to frown, not daring to anticipate his next words.

"So he just told me he's looking for a tenant for his apartment. Somebody with personal references…"

"Yeah, I heard that part…"

He looks up at her, with that lovely mix of frown and smile that Gillian adores.

"Would you be my workaholic upstairs?" he asks.

Gillian gawks at him as he now openly smiles, shaking his head. Then he rounds her neck with his arm and leads her back to the couch, while she's still trying to really process it.

"Guess we don't need to call my broker, after all."

They sit back down together and he brings her to rest again on his side. Half a report on the news later, he mutters, half concerned, half pleased:

"So we have the morning free…"

To his surprise, Gillian puts her hands together lowering her head and pleads: "Please! How about a nap, drowsing off right here in this wonderful cozy couch of yours?"

Hotch swallows his ironic smile, because that was exactly what he was about to say, and seriously nods. "Sure, no problem."

She lets out an exaggerated sigh and cuddles back against him. Two reports later she mutters: "Right upstairs?"

"Exactly upstairs. If you knock on the ceiling here, you're knocking on his floor."

"Wow…" she breathes.

"Uh-huh…"


End file.
